Hanging Tree
by PeaceLoveAndAcoustics
Summary: Snapped!Alfred, back when I was in a kick. R & R? C:


They say that when a man is thrown into an enclosed cell, he slowly loses his sanity, and that the reality that he was once accustomed to slips through the cracks of his fingers.

Alfred F. Jones fit this saying perfectly. The walls of his confinement closed him in physically, but when he knew that he was all alone, no guards around to poke into his privacy, his mind escaped the cold, white walls of the cell. The blonde's thoughts spun around and around, like a hurricane's powerful wind. Memories whirled along the edges of his brain, as if his most inner private thoughts were a deadly, twisted roller coaster ride.

Sometimes, when he escaped reality, Alfred would visit places in his past that once brought him comfort and joy. Old birthdays, family gatherings, and his lover. Well, his ex-lover, to be quite frank. The same lover, mind you, that he brutally murdered in his own kitchen, with his bare hands. This particular memory of his lost love excited the blonde the most. When the memory flickered like an old flame, the American could feel himself shaking with eagerness, wanting to go back to the scene of the crime.

Oh, if only he could run his fingers along Arthur's dying corpse one last time! If only he hadn't gotten caught! The same shot of excitement and ecstasy shot through Alfred's veins, as if someone had injected the raw feeling into his blood flow with a long, agonizing needle.

A smirk tugged the edges of his lips, his mouth turning into a cheerful, rather cheeky grin. America stood, and walked over to a little desk and chair in the crowded cell. His 'office', as he simply put it. Opening the top drawer carefully, his shaking, eager hands pulled out an aged, worn document.

His blue orbs glowed with excitement as they read over the document, his fingers almost ripping the frail piece of paper in his grasp. The document was actually a set of directions for him to follow, and if followed correctly, would aid him in his escape to where he belonged: at The Hanging Tree.

Yes, the same tree that he feared as a child. It was rumored that back in the 1800s, they hung a man who murdered three people from a high branch in the tree. The man slaughtered three villagers, legend has it that he was simply insane and wanted the people in the village to notice him.

Alfred knew what he had to do. Grabbing a safety-pin and his trusty pocket knife from his desk, he quickly and quietly picked the lock on his cell. Sliding the cell door open ever so slightly, the blonde slid his way through, and continued to walk down the halls.

A prison guard noticed Alfred, and stood. "Hey, Jones! You know no one is allowed out of their cells without someone accompanying them."

Alfred smirked. "Yes, sir. I was actually on my way to find you. I wanted to ask you a question."

The guard ran his fingers through his short, salt and pepper hair. "Well, what is it, Jones?"

Alfred walked up to him, and grabbed him by the throat. "Do you know of 'The Hanging Tree'?" The man saw the guard shake his head no, and Alfred's hand tightened around his throat. "No? Well then, it was nice chatting with you, but I'm afraid I've got to go." He retrieved the knife from his pocket, and plunged it deep into the guard's chest.

Crimson blood poured from the freshly inflicted wound. Alfred's blue eyes sparkled with absolute delight. Bringing his hand towards the man's chest, his fingers ran along the red liquid. Gathering a fair amount on his fingers, he brought his fingers to his lips, licking away the blood he had acquired.

"You taste bitter," Alfred stated, lapping the remaining of the blood away. "The last time I caused bloodshed, it tasted sweet." The crazed murderer made his way down the quiet, cool halls of the prison, slaughtering anybody that dare get in his way.

Walking into the cool, crisp, autumn night, he felt his senses enlighten. Suddenly he was more aware of everything around him. Alfred walked into the night, occasionally glancing down at the directions he was given.

He spotted the tree an hour later, his eyes wandering over what he needed. The rope resting at the bottom of the tree would aid him in his mission. He walked over, gathered the rope in his hands, and began to climb the tree.

Once he made his way carefully onto the branch, he securely tied the rope into place. Slipping the rope over his neck, he drew in a quick breath, then jumped.

_Are you, are you  
coming to the tree  
Wear a necklace of rope side by side with me  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree_


End file.
